


Eyes as Green as a Fresh-Pickled Toad

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco dreams of a boy with eyes as green as emeralds, as green as a fresh-pickled toad. But mostly he waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes as Green as a Fresh-Pickled Toad

Eyes as Green as a Fresh-Pickled Toad

&…….&…….&…….&……..&…….&

Disclaimer: A short Draco/Harry fic set from Draco’s perspective. Just something that’s been screaming at me to write for the past two days, while I wait for the fickle muse to help  
me write the next chapter in Draco Malfoy and the Strickland Case. I own nothing from the world of Harry Potter. Enjoy!  
&……&……&…….&……..&……..&

The boy was small for his age, dressed in baggy clothes, with a shock of spikey black hair and the greenest eyes Draco had ever seen.

There were as green as the grass on the Manor’s immaculate lawns after a soft summer rain, or as green as the rings his mother wore, an heirloom from the House of Black. When he walked into the shop, a waft of cool, English-summer air blew in with him, mixed with the scent of chestnuts from somewhere down the street, and the sounds of thousands of voices arguing and laughing and gossiping as they went about their business in Diagon Alley.

Standing on a stool in Madame Malkin’s shop, pins stuck in him all over the place while his measurements were taken, Draco Malfoy attempted a smile at the newcomer. This boy looked to be the same age as himself, although smaller than Draco, and with an expression that suggested he was overwhelmed by everything. 

As the boy with the green eyes was installed on the stool next to him, Draco Malfoy introduced himself and held out his hand, shaking up the over-long sleeves as he did so.

The boy faced him, those green eyes ablaze, and grasped his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy. I’m Harry Potter.”

&……&……&……&……&……..&

With a gasp, Draco Malfoy woke up in the Third-Year Boys dorm. Above him hung a rich, green canopy, and all around him were the snores of his fellow Slytherin year mates.

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Wanna cabbage,” Crabbe mumbled from his left.

Draco gave his minion’s sleeping form a stern look to tell him what he could do with his bloody cabbage, and then flopped back onto the bed, staring disconsolately up at the canopy.

Why, oh why, did Potter have to haunt his nights as well as his days?

Really it was distinctly unfair. “Why is life out to get me?” Draco wondered aloud.

“Nice fishy,” Crabbe opined.

Draco snorted. 

&……&……&…….&…….&…….&…….&

Draco was convinced that Ginevra Weasley knew that he had been the one to send Harry Potter that Valentine in second year. Oh sure, everyone assumed it was her, and she had gladly taken all the blame – or the credit – and Draco had mocked her along with all the rest.

But there was a way that she stared at him as Valentine’s approached that year, which was distinctly unsettling.

“Weaslette,” she mocked, shoving past her roughly. 

She bestowed him with a cool look, as though saying, I know what you are, Malfoy.

“Sure you don’t have any more red-headed monstrosities you call siblings coming to Hogwarts any time soon? You’re parents finally learned to stop procreating?” he snarled, to cover up his confusion. The thing of it was, though, that he didn’t even know what he was.

Not that he would tell his father that. 

The Weasley girl’s eyes flashed fire and she took a step forward. Crabbe and Goyle made to flank him, but Draco waved them back; he wasn’t afraid of a girl, and a Weasley one at that. She continued until she was right up in his face, all lean like a good Quidditch player should be, and a reckless light in her eyes. 

“Sure you don’t have any more love poetry to write to Harry, Malfoy?” she whispered, triumphantly. “His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,” she quoted, taking malicious pleasure in Draco’s widening eyes.

Draco could feel himself pale and cursed every Malfoy ancestor back to the Founders. And every Weasley too. But by the time he had come up with anything to say in return,  
Ginevra Weasley and walked off, Pansy was looking at him as though he weren’t acting like himself, and Draco felt extremely nauseous. 

All in all, it wasn’t a good time to be the Malfoy heir, so Draco did the only thing to do in a situation such as this; he hid for the rest of the day.

&……&……&…….&…….&…….&

The first time Draco woke up dreaming of kissing Harry Potter, was the night after Potter had grabbed him outside of the Potions classroom and slammed him up against the stone wall. Draco hadn’t even been sure what he’d been saying, he’d just been attempting to get a rise out of the other boy. The summer before, Potter had shot up, and now he was almost Draco’s height.

Although, at fifteen, neither boy had a height they could boast of. Weasley towered over both of them.

But there was Harry Potter, bright green eyes burning into Draco’s own as he grabbed his arch-nemesis and shoved him back into the stone wall.

“You got something else to add, Malfoy?” he’d demanded, warm breath ghosting over Draco’s lips.

Potter was all but pressed against Draco, using his own body as leverage to keep Draco in place.

And it was torture.

Pure delicious torture.

Wiry, seeker’s build touched every inch of his body, warmth pooling through layers of clothes and school robes, felt even through the frigid air of the Hogwart’s dungeons. Harry’s lips were thick and full, panting with his exertion and rage, and so close. So achingly close.

Draco wouldn’t have been able to answer Harry even if he could have thought of something to say.

This was becoming a running trend in regards to Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy didn’t like it one bit. But if he could just get Potter to move a little closer……..

Draco shifted just the tiniest bit, and felt a jolt like electricity shoot through his entire body. He bit his lip to keep from groaning – 

“Mr. Potter, unhand Mr. Malfoy right this instant!”

And then Snape was there, Potter was releasing him, and Draco slumped back against the wall, trying his hardest to school his face back into the Malfoy mask, and feeling as though every nerve ending was one fire.

Potter hadn’t noticed a thing.

Draco looked up, hearing Snape issuing a detention to Potter, and met the eyes of Granger, book clutched to her chest, and bushy hair even more untamable than usual. Weasley was staring daggers at the Potions Professor and the rest of Draco’s classmates had vanished through the door to Snape’s torture chamber known as his classroom.

But Granger was standing there, staring at Draco with a disturbingly knowing light in her dark eyes, and the hint of a surprised smile on her lips.

“Mudblood,” Draco told her, sure that he was speaking low enough that Snape couldn’t hear, but apparently not. 

The gaze he fixed on Draco startled his godson in its rage, and the detention that he issued was the first – and last – one he ever gave to the fair-haired Malfoy scion.

Draco never used that word in Snape’s hearing ever again, although he did tell his mother about what had happened. She had looked extremely thoughtful and told him not to tell his father. 

It was the first time that Draco realized that Narcissa Black Malfoy might not be in complete accord with her husband, and the first time that Draco felt the effects of the War to come.

&……&……&…….&……&…….&

After the War, Draco Malfoy bought a Lamborghini. It was yellow, like a giant bumblebee. Draco named it Bumbledore and took great delight in racing it around and around the M25, wreaking havoc with the Muggle police, and running old people in slow-moving sedans off the road. 

Eventually the Aurors were called in and, lo and behold, Potter was among them. 

Draco had enchanted Bumbledore to be nigh unbeatable, and it had taken Potter at least half an hour to run Draco to ground. As he had hauled Draco out of the car, bearing him down to the asphalt the Muggle way, Draco had laughed.

“This is the only thing that feels familiar about this world anymore,” Draco had told him, still laughing.

Surprisingly they had taken him to Saint Mungo’s, and it was only afterwards that Draco learned he’d had a blood alcohol content high enough to given him alcohol poisoning and do serious damage to his liver.

Potter had turned Bumbledore into an actual bumblebee and told Draco he wasn’t getting it back. Even after Draco told him that it was named Bumbledore and liked to eat sweets instead of gasoline.

Draco had shrugged, bought a McClaren that he painted green, and named it Snapey.

Snapey was even faster, and definitely meaner, than Bumbledore. This time Potter didn’t even bother bringing backup. He came alone and stood in the middle of the highway as though daring Draco to run him over. Snapey made a valiant attempt to finally kill The Chose One, the Haunter of Draco’s Daydreams, but Draco prevailed at the last second, and swerved off the road, tumbling end over end until the car was a jumble of smoking metal around him, and Potter was pulling him frantically out of the wreckage.

“God, Malfoy!” he snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

Draco cough up a bit of blood but didn’t let this phase him. Ah well, still alive then. He shoved Potter off of him. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Potter?” he demanded in turn. He attempted to crawl away from what remained of Snapey and could almost hear Potter’s confusion. It made him furious.

“Accio!” he snarled, and his wand flew to his hand. He hauled himself up to his feet, not caring that his expensive robes were ruined, he smelled like smoke and gasoline, and  
Auror Harry Potter was staring at him with his arms folded. The bastard’s eyes were still so fucking green. 

Draco growled angrily and prodded Potter forcefully in the chest. “Yes! What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?”

When the other man did nothing except bestow Draco with a tolerant look and step back a bit, Draco all but howled in rage and tackled the other man. In between blows he yelled,  
“You stand here all fucking out together, with your fucking girlfriend and your fucking flat in Islington, and a fucking engagement announced in the Daily fucking Prophet, and you ask me what is wrong?!!”

They were drawing a crowd, and Draco could see Ministry personnel arriving to deal with it. Potter wrapped Draco’s flailing arms up, twisted until Draco was securely beneath him, and then Apparated them both to Draco’s own London flat; an admittedly much grander affair than the papers made out Harry’s to be, but also – most likely – messier. Clothing, old food, bottles of gin and vodka and wine, and substances best not named to the authorities, were scattered haphazardly about, and a stale smell hung about the place.

Potter wrinkled his nose.

Draco snorted, and shoved the other man off of him, before stalking off down the hallway to his bedroom. “You’ve seen me home like a well-behaved young man,” he snarled, “now fuck off, Potter.”

But Potter didn’t go anywhere. 

He followed Draco back to his bedroom, grey light filtering in from an English evening, and stared at him in the mirror, green eyes even more confused, as Draco attempted to push the long, pale strands of his hair into some semblance of order.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” he asked, at last, and then immediately held up a hand. “I don’t mean right now, I mean in general. What’s with the drinking and the cars and the……..” he waved a hand at everything around him; Draco’s tv and surround-sound system and the shelves of muggle books that covered the walls.

Draco snorted again, “Eloquent as always, Potter,” he muttered. “You always did lack observational skills.” Aggrievedly he pushed his hair back again, only for it to whisper back down around his eyes.

He raised a hand, but then Potter moved. “Don’t,” he muttered, reaching out obviously before he’d thought, and softly moving the piece out of Draco’s eyes and behind his ear.

Draco froze, forgetting to breathe, head spinning and not only from inebriation and the remnants of his accident. With a frown Potter tipped Draco’s chin up, ignoring his grimace, to scan his face. Two quick wand waves later and Draco’s superficial scrapes and the ache in his left knee were gone.

But Potter still hadn’t released Draco’s face. Instead he stared at him intently, with something like curiosity in his face. With what almost seemed like subconscious thought, Potter ran a thumb over Draco’s cheek.

Draco tried to take a shallow breath. He could feel his heart pounding, and wondered why Potter hadn’t commented on it yet. He attempted to speak, and found that he had to wet his lips first. He watched Potter’s green eyes follow the movement and darken with something that Draco couldn’t name. “You gonna kiss me now, Potter?” he taunted, voice barely above a whisper.

As Harry Potter’s emerald eyes sparked with fire at the challenge, Draco thought, Oh, fuck it. 

He hauled the other man hard against him, and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

At first he thought he had made a terrible mistake, because Harry froze like a startled deer. Draco pushed him back until Harry’s back hit the corner of the dresser, pressing his body flush against the other man’s, and ran his tongue across his lips. With a gasp, Harry parted his mouth. His hands were moving spasmodically against Draco’s shoulders.

Draco pressed his half-hard erection against Harry’s, delighting in the groan that resulted, and then Harry Potter was kissing him back, rough hands twisting, tangling into Draco’s hair, wiry, toned body wrapping around his as they both fell back to the bed, legs and arms entangling, fighting each other every step of the way, as each fought for dominance.

Afterwards Draco lay pliant in Harry’s arms, not even minding as Harry ran his fingers around and around Draco’s dark mark.

“This changes nothing,” he told Draco.

But after he had fallen asleep, lids closing over those wonderful eyes, Draco thought defiantly, this changes everything.

&……&…….&…….&…….&……..&

Harry Potter married Ginevra Weasley 6 years to the days since the Dark Lord was defeated. Draco was invited to the wedding. 

He didn’t go. 

He bought another car, a Porsche he named Serious. 

Seriously.

Harry Potter and Ginvera Weasley-Potter had three children, and Draco almost smiled when the younger boy was christened Albus Severus.

Draco married a woman his mother had found for him. Astoria Greengrass possessed a Ravenclaw-intellect and an aloof manner to match. She gave him a son, and then divorced him to found a successful business in Wizard Cruises.

Draco Malfoy became head of International Children’s Charities, and founded a Potions scholarship to the Scholomance in the name of Severus Snape.

And he waited.

Mostly he waited.

Ginny Weasley gave him cool looks whenever she ran into him. Every once in a while Hermione Granger would ask him out to lunch, and they would talk about work, and she would - not at all subtly even after all these years - attempt to prod him into making a move.

But Wizards live a long time, and Draco Malfoy had learned patience from his mother, and the art of loving long from his godfather, and he just smiled at her, and offered her another donation for House Elves from the vast Malfoy and Black fortunes.

Besides, Harry Potter had always been a particularly unobservant man.

Even if he did have eyes like a fresh-pickled toad.

&…….&…….&…….&…….&……..&

Too short, I know. But I’m exhausted and my family already thinks I’m insane for writing far into the night. If there’s any interest, I might attempt to lengthen it. Let me know.


	2. Hair as Bright as Silver Moonlight

Hair as Bright as Silver Moonlight

&……&……&…….&…….&……&

Harry never noticed Malfoy was good-looking until Hermione yelled it out in the middle of an argument with Ron.

“You are an ignorant…..ignorant wanker, Ronald Weasley!” Hermione shouted, obviously fed up. They’d been going at it for some time, and Harry was getting a headache. He and Ron had returned to Hogsmeade to visit Hermione as she completed her 7th Year at Hogwarts. 

Obviously this had been a mistake.

Ron had gone into the Leaky Cauldron, seen Hermione’s dark head bent over Malfoy’s light one, and promptly hexed the wanker almost senseless.

Now Hermione had called Ron a wanker. Things were getting ugly.

“He’s Death Eater scum!” Ron bellowed back.

“Who helped us defeat Voldemort and refused to turn Harry in, and never turned his back on the people he loved, not even once,” Hermione hissed. She looked absolutely furious. “And your first instinct when you saw us sitting together is to think that I’m cheating on you and he’s scum. What kind of person, Ron Weasley, to think that?” Her voice was low and deadly. Ron looked like he had been hit with a poleaxe. Her eyes narrowed even further. “And for your information, I think he is very attractive.”

And then she had swept out, slamming the door behind her.

Ron was pale as a sheet, and Harry froze in the act of extending a hand to Malfoy to haul him up off the floor.

Malfoy groaned dramatically and shoved Harry’s hand aside. “Like I need your help, Potter,” he snapped, dragging himself to his feet and smoothing his hair frantically into place. He raised his rather pointy chin.

“Granger has more class than you will ever possess, Weasel,” he sneered. “You don’t deserve her.” He stalked towards the door, robes billowing out around him, but paused at the entrance and fixed an imperious glare on Harry.

“And Potter?”

Harry’s eyes locked with grey ones. He raised an eyebrow at his childhood nemesis.

Malfoy sniffed. “Do something with that hair.”

The door slammed after him too. Ron still looked like he had been hit by a wet fish, and Luna, who had placidly watched the whole thing from next to Hermione, took a sip of her butterbeer.

“Attractive?” Ron asked, lost.

Harry snorted and was about to add something derisive, but was interrupted by Luna’s giggle. Ron and Harry turned to her in surprise.

“What,” Harry asked, suspiciously. “You think he’s attractive too?”

Luna just smiled at him, keeping her unsettlingly piercing gaze fixed on his. “Yes,” she said, simply. “His hair is like silver moonlight, don’t you think?”

&……&……&……&…….&…….&

Malfoy, that smug, supercilious, pointy-faced bastard, kept turning up no matter where Harry went.

He was there when Harry attended the Death Eater trials, forcing Harry to testify for the git because Malfoy’s mother had saved his life.

He was there when Harry returned to Hogwarts, donating a shit-ton of money and getting an entire wing of the newly renovated library named after himself.

He was there in Hermione’s law classes, mocking, and teasing, and challenging her as they studied together.

He was there when Harry graduated from Aurors, with his fancy cars and his devil-may-care attitude, and his reckless behavior that was borderline suicidal.

Everyone was trying so hard to forget the war ever happened, but Draco Malfoy’s presence wouldn’t let Harry forget. And Malfoy obviously couldn’t forget either.   
Harry saw Sirius’ smile hovering on Malfoy’s lips, and Lily’s sacrifice – a mother’s for her child, Narcissa’s for her son’s – in Malfoy’s smug face. He saw Tonks’ fierceness in Malfoy’s narrow-eyed glare, and Dumbledore’s forgiveness in Malfoy’s thin, waving hands as he created a fund for Alchemy in Dumbledore’s name. He saw Snape’s resilience, his ability to love through everything, in the way Malfoy looked at him, grey eyes glaring and bright and somehow fragile beneath it all.

And Harry hated it.

&……&……&…….&…….&…….&

Harry fucked Malfoy for the second time on his wedding day to Ginny.

Malfoy had specifically told Harry that he wasn’t coming to the wedding. Or rather, his exact words to the owl Harry had sent were, Fuck Off. So Harry had assumed he wouldn’t be coming.

Which was just as well, really, as Ginny didn’t like him. 

“I don’t trust him, Harry. I don’t like the way he looks at you, and I would appreciate it if you would keep your distance.”

Harry had agreed easily enough; he would do anything to keep Ginny happy, to keep their relationship steady. And it wasn’t like Harry even liked Malfoy. He hated the arrogant git. Malfoy was still the same self-entitled wanker that he had always been, buying expensive cars and blatantly ignoring any laws – Wizarding or Muggle – that he damn well pleased. 

And he was still pointy, and pale, with malevolent eyes, and an inbred look, and hair that looked pale like…..like moonlight.

No, not like moonlight……like…..like…….dammit. 

Harry watched from the front by the Alter as Malfoy slunk in and sat at the back of the church. It was a Muggle and Wizarding affair, with people from both worlds invited. Harry’s cousin, Dudley, was there with his wife and children, as well as Hermione’s parents. Wizarding and Muggle attire were both present, with Harry wearing striking, emerald green robes, with his hair neat and manageable for once.

Hermione was elegant in deep autumn red, and Ron stood as Harry’s best man with robes of midnight blue. Andromeda Black Tonks sat in the third row with her grandson, Teddy, and looked the picture of Pureblood elegance and wealth, with her severe, beautiful features, and robes of deep violet.

Malfoy still stood out. His robes were silver and blue, his posture was haughty and unsure and elegant, and his sharp bones, and pale skin, not to mention that bright hair, marked him as both a Black and Malfoy whether he wanted it or not. 

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

Not even when Ginny walked down the aisle, her red curls mixed with copper in the sunlight, and absolutely beautiful in a blue-green dress with a long train and pearls about her neck and wrists, could Harry look away from Malfoy.

Harry smiled at Ginny, and knew that it was forced; knew that she saw it and wanted to glance behind her to see the cause, but he angled himself so that he faced slightly to the back and she faced the front and the Minister. She kept her eyes on him, and he kept his on her left ear, watching Draco Malfoy’s white-blonde hair turn silver-gold – moonlight mixed with sunlight, and he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Malfoy did not look at him even once.

Afterwards, Harry danced with Ginny, and then with Hermione, and then with Ginny again. He even took Dudley’s wife, Hazel, for a spin. He cut the cake and listened to Ron and Hermione’s toast, and made polite conversation with everyone who came to wish him well.

But everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned, he saw Draco Malfoy.

Ostensibly Malfoy did not move from his spot at a large, empty table in the very back of the room. He kept his head down, ate his meal, and drank steadily. Harry watched Hermione move towards him and talk for a while. Malfoy met her eyes and smiled politely, but did not seem very interested in what she had to say. Andromeda wandered over after a bit, and placed her hand on Malfoy’s arm, gently.

He smiled at her, and even allowed her to kiss his cheek, but Harry could see the glassy-eyed sheen to his eyes from here; and knew that Malfoy was well and truly on his way to being plastered. 

“Dance with me, Harry,” Ginny laughed, pressing herself against him, her eyes wine-bright, and her lips cherry red.

Harry smiled down at her, placed a hand at her waist, and smoothly led her to the dance floor. Ginny’s bright, sparkling laughter echoed across the room and Harry could see Malfoy’s hand curl around his wine glass hard enough to shatter it.

Harry pulled Ginny closer, into the curve of his body, his chin resting on her bright hair, and willed Malfoy to look up at him.

There was cheering and clapping from the Weasleys, and the song changed from loud and rambunctious to something slow and romantic.

Malfoy’s lips were pressed in a thin, straight line, but he did not look up.

Harry pulled slightly back, tilted Ginny’s chin up, and then bent down to kiss her. As his lips brushed hers, catcalls broke out, and Malfoy’s head jerked up, pale hair tumbling down from the severe style he had placed it in, and brushing one pale, pointy chin.

Flushed cheeks, and fierce, hazy, grey eyes locked on Harry’s. Harry stopped moving, keeping Malfoy in his eye line. He teased Ginny’s lips with his tongue, and when she granted him entrance, he moved in quickly, waiting for her groan. She pressed closer to him, as his hand travelled slowly down her back, almost brushing her arse. Malfoy’s eyes were wide, his pupils huge, and his lips parted; he could not look away, and Harry felt a thrill run through his entire body.

Draco Malfoy could not look away from him.

Harry realized he was growing hard against Ginny’s leg. 

“Hey, hey!” Ron yelled joyfully. “None of that now! There’ll be time for that later!” And everyone laughed.

Harry pulled away from Ginny, and almost groaned aloud as Malfoy unconsciously wet his lips, his eyes travelling up and down Harry’s body and settling on his groin. Harry’s cock twitched in interest, and Harry hastily shifted, trying to hide his growing erection in the voluminous folds of his robes.

He returned Ginny to her seat, and met Hermione’s cool, assessing gaze. She raised an eyebrow at him, and then tilted a head in the direction of Malfoy. Harry glared at her in warning, but turned to look. Malfoy had gotten up and was moving swiftly towards the exit.

With a jolt of alarm, Harry dropped Ginny’s arm and strode after him.

“Harry?” Ginny called.

Behind him he heard Hermione say, “He probably just needs a bit of fresh air, or the loo, Gin,” and then engage Ginny in conversation.

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm just as the other man reached the front doors. With a rough movement, he hauled the other man into the loo at the side, locked and warded the door, and shoved Malfoy against the wall. The next moment his lips were against Malfoy’s, demanding, insistent, and Malfoy, with a gasp and a shiver, let Harry in.

Malfoy’s mouth was warm and wet and perfect. His hands fisted in Harry’s robes, wrinkling the material, and pulling Harry closer, flush against him.

Malfoy’s cock was hard and pulsing beneath his robes. Harry moaned, and shoved his hips helplessly into Malfoy’s, delighting in his convulsive swallows and the fluttering of his hands, and his breathy gasps of…..”Oh, God, Potter…..don’t stop.”

When Malfoy shoved him backwards, and switched their positions, Harry went willingly, his breath catching in his throat when Malfoy dropped to his knees in front of him. One hand splayed against the wall to keep him upright, and the other grasping, clinging to Malfoy’s silver-fair hair, Harry watched helplessly as Malfoy moved aside Harry’s robes, pulled down his pants, and placed his lips around Harry’s cock.

Harry’s head hit the back of the wall. White, hot heat was shooting through him. Malfoy licked and stroked and sucked, and Harry came hard, shouting Malfoy’s name in the echoing silence of the lavatory.

Harry heard only the sounds of their breathing in the aftermath. A sick feeling grew in his gut, so that he thought he might throw up. He looked down; his hand was clenched in hair as pale as moonlight, and Malfoy’s blown-wide eyes were gazing up at him.

Harry shoved him away, hard. “Fuck!”

Malfoy fell back to the floor. “What the hell, Potter,” he snapped. Harry saw his hand going towards his own, untended, erection, visible still through his robes. Harry’s breath caught as Malfoy palmed himself, his head falling back, white-blonde hair brushing his shoulders as his head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck.

Harry wanted to watch him touch himself, until he came, moaning Harry’s name. Harry wanted to reach out and run his palm over Draco’s hard, hot length. He wanted to push his fingers into Malfoy’s tight, heat and, then push his hardening cock in, and pound into him until Malfoy couldn’t even remember his own name.

He wanted it so much that he was trembling with the need. Just once, just one more time, he needed this. He needed Malfoy with his sarcasm and his refusal to be anything other than what he was, and his haughty looks, his hair like moonlight brushing against Harry’s face, and the fire that burned between them.

So Harry gave in. Just once. Malfoy came with his lips trembling against Harry’s, but he refused to say a word.

With a snarl Harry pulled out of him, and grabbed his wand. Malfoy’s eyes were closed.

“Obliviate,” Harry hissed. He should have obliviated himself.

&…..&…….&…….&……&…….&

Malfoy, Harry realised sometime during his second week guarding the prat, never shut up. 

Harry had successfully avoided the prat for years, had avoided thinking about him for years, had thrown himself into his quiet life with Ginny and children; and then Malfoy had, as per bloody usual, messed everything up by being his usual, annoying self. 

Draco Malfoy was a whistle—blower.

“He’s an opportunistic, trouble-making bastard,” Harry had informed Kingsley Shacklebolt. He had wanted to add, ‘and I hate his face,’ but figured that this wouldn’t be as compelling an argument.

Kingsley just shook his head. “Hermione Granger-Weasley has expressly requested you for this assignment, Auror Potter, Head of the Aurors or not. Draco Malfoy has exposed a very serious degree of corruption in the Department of Mysteries – although how he got in I don’t want to know.” Here the Minister frowned.

“By doing something illegal,” Harry informed the Minister helpfully, making a mental note to kill Hermione later. Head of Magical Law Enforcement or not, she had no right to stick him with Malfoy. She knew how much he hated the poncy bastard.

Kingsley merely smiled.

“You know what your problem is, Potter?” Malfoy now asked, conversationally. He was lounging on an elegant chaise in one of his many, undisclosed and probably unregistered and avoiding taxes, Flats that were littered around London.”

“You?” Harry growled.

Malfoy gave him a withering look. “You lost all the courage you had when the Dark Lord died.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Ooo, what a witty rejoinder, Potter. How do you come up with them?”

“And who uses ‘Ooo’, Malfoy?” Harry mocked in return.

“Also, your hair,” Malfoy continued, ignoring him. “And your glasses – really Potter, how long is it going to take before you finally get a new pair, or get your eyes fixed by magic?” Malfoy helped up a hand, ticking on his fingers. “Then there’s your appalling fashion sense, your irritating show of moral superiority, and the fact that you have less sense of adventure than an 80 year old man with Alzheimer’s.”

“I get plenty of excitement, Malfoy.” Harry shifted uncomfortably as Malfoy smirked. The bastard was still obnoxiously attractive, even if that hairstyle made him look like he had a receding hairline.

Malfoy’s smirk grew. “Really, Potter? And what kind of excitement is that?”

“Never you, mind,” Harry told him, severely.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Potter. You never change, I don’t know why I still expect it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the other man, fearing what he was implying. “It was one night, Malfoy. It was a mistake, and it meant nothing. I’ve moved on. Maybe you should too. It’s a bit pathetic to be mooning over something that happened once, many years ago.”

Malfoy’s eyes, steely grey, shot up towards his. He was suddenly on his feet, every inch of him furious and dangerous and intent. “According to Granger, it was two nights. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you obliviated me, Potter? The Chosen One. The Hero of Light. And you fucked with my mind, because you couldn’t deal with what you really wanted.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry said, automatically, but he felt that sick feeling again, the one he got every time he remembered what he did.

Malfoy shoved him, hard, and Harry let him. 

He deserved it. He deserved all of it.

With a low growl, Malfoy punched him square in the face, and Harry would have laughed at such a Muggle move if he didn’t remember that Draco’s flats were filled with TVs and toasters, computers and telephones.

And if he didn’t see the bright flash of a spell shooting with unerring accuracy towards the furious git who looked close to murdering him.

Harry tackled Malfoy and bore him swiftly to the ground. The spell exploded against the wall behind them, and Harry stared fiercely down into Malfoy’s shocked, pained face.

“Draco?” he demanded, suddenly frantic. Maybe he had missed one and something had hit him?

Malfoy’s eyes widened even further at the use of his given name. “Get off me, Potter,” he snapped, his wand already in his hands. “Are you going to go after the reprobate who just tried to kill me, or do I have to do that too?”

And Harry laughed, feeling the blood pounding in his veins, before he took off in pursuit.

“Who uses the word ‘reprobate’, Malfoy?” he shouted back.

Malfoy gave him a one-fingered salute in return, before deciding that Harry was incapable of catching criminals on his own, and ran after him.

He insulted Harry the whole time, even when he tripped, fell in a hole, and told Harry to carry on without him.

“I am a martyr to the cause, Potter. Now, bring me his head on a platter,” he ordered.

But Harry didn’t think Hermione would approve, so he arrested the man instead.

&……&……&……&……&……&

Ginny had always been more comfortable around boys than girls, and this had continued into adulthood. Hermione said that it was the result of growing up with 6 older brothers, and Harry had thought nothing of it until Rita Skeeter published a tell-all expose revealing Ginny’s numerous affairs with various men over the past decade and a half that she and Harry had been married.

Harry stared at the articles, realizing that his happy little life with her had been a lie the entire time. No matter how much he had tried, Ginny had long since given up. She had lied even more than he had. She had lived a dream, a fleeting wish from her childhood, instead of her own life.

Just like he had.

“Did you know?” Harry asked Hermione, already well into his third firewisky. Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing.

“But you suspected?” Harry probed, knowing Hermione too well.

She shrugged, and played with her straw. The noise of the Muggle bar drifted up all around them.

Harry snorted. “Of course you did. And you didn’t tell me?”

“Would you have believed me, Harry?” Hermione’s gaze was always far too knowing for Harry’s comfort when dealing with emotional…..matters. “You didn’t want to see. You erased Draco’s memory for God’s sake. You had to figure it out on your own. I just never thought it would take this long.”

Harry shook his head, and then just kept shaking it. “I just wanted…….” He trailed off, not sure what he was trying to explain.

“You just wanted to be normal, for once,” Hermione agreed, leaning against him gently. “But Harry, normal is relative, and generally whatever society dictates it is. It doesn’t mean that you’re wrong for wanting something else.”

“I wanted quiet, and peace, and order. I was so tired, Hermione. My whole life has been this never-ending struggle against things out of my control. I just wanted something easy.”

“Did you,” Hermione murmured, not sounding like she believed him at all. “Did you really?”

“Yes,” Harry said, trying to sound as certain as possible.

Hermione laughed gently. “Neither you nor I Harry, have ever wanted things to be truly easy. We’re always searching for the next challenge, the next adventure. I do it with my work, and crave constant relationships, but Harry, you are passionate. Your relationships have always been volatile, both platonic and not-platonic. It’s just who you are.”

“Except Ginny.” 

“Except Ginny,” Hermione agreed. 

Harry drank some more and remained silent. Eventually Ron came to join them. He glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. “You had the talk with him yet?” he asked.

Harry gaped at his best mate.

Ron grinned. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Harry. We all have to grow up sometime, and Hermione has been very insistent over the years that if I prejudice our children she will string me up by my entrails.”

Harry gnawed his bottom lip. “I feel relief,” he admitted at last. “Malfoy was right, I am a coward. I waited until the choice was made for me.”

“It seems to me,” Ron said, after a quick glance at Hermione, “that you have another choice to make now, mate.”

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione. He wondered vaguely what his children would think, after realizing that both of their parents had been unfaithful to one another.

Then he went to find Draco.

&……&……&……&…….&……&


End file.
